Well, I finally made it to this Honest Burgers. There was a bit of a wait to get our table – 45 minutes – for a late lunch at 3pm on a Saturday. We were a table of five, we didn’t have to queue physically, as they took down my mobile and called up to let us know it was our table was ready. As you have probably read elsewhere, they’ve received much publicity last year, and is generally held in high regard by the burger lovers. As high regard as the Meatwagon & Lucky Chip burgers. On the same token, there are those who have written about an inconsistent experience. The Cheese, with house chips with rosemary salt, £7.50. That’s a neat brioche. The patty looked wet & juicy, the cheddar only just melted over it. The red onion relish is the unique condiment which sets the honest burger apart from its competition. The smell of rosemary filled our table, so much so, I could hardly detect grilled beef – a change in the usual burger outing. Like most democratic burger restaurants these days, food is served in wartime enamel crockery. I did some digging around, and found Falcon enamelware which has been trading since the 20s. Our immediate reaction were that these burgers looked a little small. More like oversized sliders. In fact, they looked about the same
Tap. 12.30pm. Tap. Text. Tap. Oliver Thring. Tap. ‘Just setting off now – see you there.’ Tap. I stopped just outside the market entrance, feeling a little jaded as I attempted to follow my iPhone’s GPS lead. And then, it happened, like a tingle in the gut, I sensed the presence of another ‘one’ who obsesses about the tastes and the smells, like me. Bicycle helmet in hand, sun striking a silhouette against his mean bits (too much?) , he uttered, in deep baritone: “You wouldn’t happen to be… Kang?” Yes folks. It is he. Mr Thring has finally landed. We shake hands like two hungry gentlemen and proceeded to fall in line with the masses who’ve come for a pilgrimage. The pilgrimage to eat the best, damn pizza known to Londoners